Chapter 2 - White Menace
2003, Miami
Getting strapped changed everything. What started as four kids with nothing became something different—something dangerous. Young Menace, they call us now. We got soldiers under us, both OGs who recognize real leadership and young bloods hungry to prove themselves. Six blocks of Overtown answer to us, which ain't bad for a crew that started in an abandoned project apartment .
But Overtown's still a powder keg, and we learned quick that muscle ain't enough when you got Zoe Pound, Latin Kings, and every other alphabet soup gang eyeing your territory. So we got smart. We went where the real money was hiding—uptown, where the rich kids play.
See, my white skin's been a curse and a blessing in these streets. Curse 'cause it made me a target growing up. Blessing 'cause now it opens doors that stay locked to my crew. These college boys at UM, these frat house princes with daddy's credit cards—they want their party favors, but they scared to death of dealing with real street niggas. Enter me: clean-cut, light-skinned, speaks proper when I need to. To them, I'm just another rebellious rich kid who happens to know where to score.
If they only knew.
The transition wasn't smooth. Big gangs don't like new players, especially ones cutting into their customer base. We had our share of shootouts, lost some good soldiers. But my pops' old connects from the Latin Kings vouched for us, and our money was green as anybody's. Plus, we were buying weight from multiple suppliers, spreading the love around. Made us valuable customers instead of competition.
The name stuck after a particularly brutal scrap with some Zoe Pound soldiers who thought they could tax our operation. I put three of them in the hospital that night, fighting with a viciousness that surprised even my own crew. Word spread: don't go hand-to-hand with the White Menace. Some warnings you earn with blood.
Business boomed. Fraternity parties, sorority mixers, private campus events—we became the go-to supply chain for Miami's privileged youth. Good product, reliable delivery, and a face they could trust. Money started flowing like water.But success breeds problems. More soldiers meant more mouths to feed, more families depending on our operation. And with expansion came heat—not just from rival crews, but from the badges.
Our boys started getting snatched up regular, which meant lawyer fees, bail money, commissary funds. I made it clear from day one: you ride for the family, the family rides for you. Cost me a fortune, but loyalty can't be bought—it has to be earned.
Present Time.
The market district deal was supposed to be routine. Big bag, clean exchange, everybody walks away richer. Should've known better than to trust "routine" in this game.
Me, Ace, Ray, Miguel, and Blaze rolled deep, carrying enough weight to supply half of South Beach for a month. The exchange went smooth—too smooth. We're walking back to the whip, pockets heavy with cash, a few samples still in our inventory, when the whole world turned blue and red.
"Fuck," Ace mutters, watching the cruisers box us in from three directions. "Somebody dropped a dime."
Ray's already scanning for exits, but we're trapped tighter than a virgin's legs. "This is some bullshit, homie."The officers are taking their time, probably calling for backup.
They know they caught something big, but they don't know exactly what yet. That gives us maybe two minutes to figure this out.
Miguel's thinking the same thing I am. "Hermano, you and Blaze take the bag and bounce. Your face can get you out of this. Leave us—we'll lawyer up."
"Mig's right," Ace adds, voice tight with stress. "Somebody's gotta stay on the outside to handle business. Without you, this whole operation falls apart."
Ray nods hard. "Do it, Link. We can't afford to have you locked up. The crew needs you."
But I'm already shaking my head. They don't see the bigger picture yet."Nah, listen up," I tell them, voice low and steady. "I'm gonna create a distraction, give y'all time to disappear. Call Martinez soon as you're clear—tell him to have bail money ready."
Ace grabs my arm. "You crazy? The gang runs on your brain and your connections, not ours. Let one of us take the heat."
"Blaze can handle the college kids," I counter. "You got the street smarts to keep operations running. I'm the most expendable piece here."
Blaze looks like he wants to argue. "Bruv, let me do it. You're the boss—"
"Exactly. Which means this is my call." I meet each of their eyes. "Trust me on this. One year in juvie beats prison for all of us. I am still young with looks of no connection to gangs, Unlike y'all"
They don't like it, but they know I'm right. When you're family, sometimes you take the bullet so everyone else can live to fight another day.
I push through the crowd gathering to watch the police action, hand moving to the .38 tucked in my waistband. Deep breath. This is about to get loud.I draw and fire three shots straight up into the Miami sky.
Panic explodes like a grenade. Screaming, running, pure chaos as civilians scatter in every direction.
The cops forget all about my crew, focus shifting entirely to the active shooter—me.I drop the gun, throw my hands up, let my face go slack with fear. "Don't shoot! Please don't shoot!"
The transformation is instant. Gone is the cold-eyed gang leader; in his place stands a terrified teenager who found a gun and made a stupid mistake. The officers see what they expect to see: another scared kid in over his head, not a criminal mastermind.
"Get down! Get down now!"I comply, letting them cuff me while I shake like a leaf.
In my peripheral vision, I catch Ace, Ray, Miguel, and Blaze melting into the crowd, free and clear. Mission accomplished.
Three days later
The courthouse feels like another planet after seventy-two hours in county lookup. Martinez, our lawyer, earned every penny of his retainer fee. Clean record, orphan background, obvious remorse—he painted me as a lost kid who needed guidance, not punishment.
The judge bought it. One year in juvenile detention, plus community service. Could've been so much worse.
Ace visits me before I get transferred. "We got everything locked down, boss. Blaze is handling the college circuit, I'm managing street operations. Books are balanced, soldiers are fed, and nobody's testing us while you're gone."
"Keep your heads down," I tell him through the reinforced glass. "Don't expand, don't start no wars, just maintain what we got. I'll be back before you know it."
He nods, understanding. "We'll be here, Link. Young Menace don't fold."
Twelve months in juvie for what could've been life sentences for my whole crew. Best trade I ever made.The streets will still be here when I get out. And when I do, we're gonna be stronger than ever.
To be continued...